


hey, I heard you were a wild one

by growlery



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Community: trope_bingo, M/M, actual art student pk subban, indecent proposal, nobody actually has sex in this story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 03:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/growlery/pseuds/growlery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PK hasn't paid rent in months. Carey hasn't gotten laid in months. The solution seems obvious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hey, I heard you were a wild one

**Author's Note:**

> For the indecent proposal square of my trope bingo card. Thanks to constantlyinconstant for letting me talk to her about this and for letting me drag her into PK Subban fandom. <3 Title is from Wild Ones by Flo Rida and Sia.

Carey’s eating cereal on the couch, something country playing on the radio, when PK trudges into the kitchen, yawning around a greeting.

“Good morning to you too,” Carey says, sounding amused. “There’s still coffee, by the way.”

PK grins at him, says, “You are the light of my life in these dark times, Carey Price,” and Carey rolls his eyes but he smiles, tiny and pleased, when he thinks PK isn’t looking.

PK pours himself some coffee, makes some toast, and joins Carey on the couch. They eat in companionable silence for a few minutes, and PK gradually feels himself waking up.

“Hey, man,” Carey says suddenly, “have you got the rent for this month?”

And there it is, the question PK’s been dreading. “Probably,” he says.

Carey raises an eyebrow. “Probably,” he repeats.

PK bites his lip. “Probably not,” he admits. Things have been rough, recently, what with his scholarship not getting renewed and fucking nobody willing to hire him. “Do you think you could- you know.”

“I paid your share last month,” Carey reminds him, and PK winces even though his voice is soft. “And the month before that. I can’t keep doing it, you know that.”

“I know,” PK says, and he _hates_ this, hates having to ask for anything, hates feeling dependent on anyone. “I know, Carey, but I- I’ll pay you back, you fucking know I will.” He gulps down some – now lukewarm – coffee. “There’s an opening at the place Tavares works at and he promised he’ll put in a good word for me. Things have to turn around soon.”

Carey’s silent for a long while. “I was thinking,” he says eventually, and PK quips, can’t help himself, “Don’t want to be doing too much of that.”

Carey rolls his eyes _hard_. “I was thinking,” he repeats, sort of pointedly, “that I could pay your rent for you, and you could-” He swallows, makes a vaguely descriptive hand gesture. “We could-”

“Pricey,” PK says, a wicked smile spreading on his lips, “are you _propositioning_ me?”

Carey goes bright red, but he says, “Yeah. It makes sense, I mean. You haven’t paid rent in months, I haven’t gotten laid in months. And you’ll sleep with anything that moves, so I figured it wouldn’t be a big deal.”

That’s true; PK likes sex, PK _really_ likes sex, and he’s up for it basically whenever, however and with whoever. He’s usually kinda pissed when people say stuff like that, but people are usually being shitty and judgemental. It’s Carey. PK knows he doesn’t give a fuck.

“Very _Indecent Proposal_ ,” he jokes, poking Carey in the side, and PK didn’t think it was possible for Carey to look even more uncomfortable than he already did, but apparently it is.

“Forget it,” he mutters, striding towards the sink to dump his now-empty bowl. “It was a stupid idea.”

“No, hey, Carey,” PK says, jumping up after him. “That wasn’t a no.”

Carey’s got his hands braced on either side of the sink, and his back is stiff, taut. PK wants to touch him, or hug him, or something, but he thinks that would maybe not be okay right now. PK’s kind of terrible at physical boundaries, but he can respect them when people put them up in front of him like a veritable shield.

“Fuck,” PK says, “you really do need to get laid.”

That seems to break the sudden tension, and Carey laughs, slumps a little. PK steps up to him and puts his hands on Carey’s shoulders, squeezing lightly, and feels the rest of the tension leech out of him.

“Well, yeah,” Carey says, turning around, out of PK’s grip. “Desperate times, and all that. Why do you think I’m asking you?”

PK pretends to be offended. “Hey, I am great at sex,” he says, because he _is_ , okay, and he’s not just going to let Carey Price impugn his honour. “I would blow your fucking mind.”

“Sure you would,” Carey says, and, accepting the challenge, PK steps forward, into Carey’s space, dragging his hands down Carey’s chest. PK very deliberately bites his lip, watches Carey’s throat bob, and leans all the way in.

Carey’s eyes actually flutter shut, but PK was going for his ear, not his mouth. “I’d get on my knees and prove it right now if we didn’t both have class,” he says, his voice low. “I don’t start things I don’t intend to finish.” He pulls back a little, raises his eyebrows at Carey. “So are we doing this or what?”

“Sure,” Carey says after a second, and PK grins.

*

PK gets home before Carey does, which isn’t unusual. He fixes himself something he can eat while he works on initial sketches for class and takes it to his room, setting everything out on his desk and leaning back in his chair.

He hears Carey come back about an hour later, halfway through his second sketch. After a few minutes, there’s a knock at PK’s door and Carey sticks his head around it, says, “Hey.”

“Hey, man,” PK says distractedly. He thinks about rubbing out the lines he’s just drawn, maybe just starting over with a fresh sheet.

Carey comes all the way into the room, sits on the edge of PK’s bed behind him. “You busy?”

PK rolls his eyes, knows Carey’ll see it even if he can’t see it. “Does it look like I’m just doodling here?”

“Well, yeah,” Carey says, because he’s a dick, but he doesn’t say anything else.

PK leans his chair back, frowning at his sketchbook, trying to figure out what isn’t working. The theme of his project is motion, and the first thing he drew, naturally, was the outline of a hockey game, blurry figures chasing after a puck. This sketch was supposed to be Carey roping but it doesn’t look anywhere near as awesome as it did in his head, or real life, for that matter. 

Carey hooks his chin over PK’s shoulder, folding his arms over PK’s chest. “Is that me?” he asks, not even a little bit fazed. It’s hardly like this is the first time PK’s drawn him; by virtue of them living under the same roof, PK’s used Carey as a model kind of a lot, with varying degrees of willingness on Carey’s part.

“Yeah.”

“Looks good,” Carey says, and PK snorts, says, “It looks shit, but that’s probably just your face.”

Carey abruptly turns his head, bites PK’s neck, and PK bites his lip so he doesn’t make an embarrassing noise.

“What did you say about my face,” Carey mumbles, not taking his mouth away from PK’s neck, and PK repeats, automatically, “It looks like shit.”

Carey bites him again, harder, licking over the skin when he lets go, and PK doesn’t even try to hold back his groan, this time. He tips his head back, up, and Carey mouths along his jaw. He brings a hand up to cup PK’s cheek, turn his face to Carey’s, and kisses PK, slow and dirty.

“Thought you were busy,” he murmurs, and PK returns, cheerful as ever, “Fuck you,” and Carey laughs.

“That is sort of the plan, yeah.”

PK twists around in his chair, raises his eyebrows at him as if to say, _really, right now_? Carey just looks back at him, his expression unchanging.

“Okay,” PK says. “How are we doing this, then?”

Carey looks vaguely amused. “I figured it was sort of obvious,” he says. “Did no one give you the talk, PK?”

“You know what I meant, dickface,” PK retorts. “Do you want my ass, my hands, my mouth, what? Is it just a one-off thing? Am I gonna have to go to my knees every time you snap your fingers or whatever?”

Carey looks sort of hurt, and PK realises that came out a lot harsher than he intended.

“Sorry, man,” he mutters. “Just. This shit’s important, okay?”

Carey looks away. “I thought you were cool with this.”

“I am,” PK says, and he is. Carey’s hot, and one of his best friends, and PK trusts him. That doesn’t mean he can’t be wary, though. “I just don’t want it to go bad on me. We should talk about it before we do anything.”

“I thought we could just fool around and see where it went.” Carey shrugs. “Like it was, you know, natural, or whatever.”

PK huffs a laugh. “We’re fucking so you’ll pay my share of the rent, Carey,” he says, because this should be obvious. “It’s sort of the furthest thing from natural.”

“I know.” Carey looks up at him, his gaze sharp. “This isn’t- I’m not going to hold this over you. I wouldn’t do that, PK.”

“Okay,” PK says.

“And, like. If I do something that you don’t want, you don’t have to go along with it just because I’m, you know.” Carey grimaces. “That’s shitty. I don’t want that.”

“Okay,” PK repeats. He looks at Carey, and he smiles wickedly. “So you were saying something about fooling around?”


End file.
